The BLTS Archive - Remembrance by Kathryn Ramage (kramage@erols.com) --- Note: I originally wrote this story in November 1996, but it's not been seen before except by a very few people. I revised it in 1999 to submit to a print zine, Champagne and Kanaar, that was never published. Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek, DS9, and the characters. This story was written purely for entertainment purposes. --- i --- The young man on the biobed looked quite normal, only a little more pale than usual. The bloody, crushed mess of his broken cheekbone had been repaired, leaving only a faint purple discoloration. There was no sign at all of the gash which had run from his temple back over his left ear. He might have been asleep. "You don't have to stay here, Commander," the Bajoran doctor told Sisko, who had been loitering in the Infirmary for over an hour. "There's nothing more any of us can do for him right now. I'll notify you if there's a change in his condition." "I'd prefer to stay," Sisko answered. "How long do you think it will be before he comes out of this coma?" The doctor shook her head. "It might be a matter of hours, or it might be days. The human brain is similar in its neurological construction to a Bajoran's, but I'm not an expert on alien physiology. I can't tell you how long he'll be like this. I won't even be able to assess the extent of the damage he's sustained-" She stopped suddenly, staring over Sisko's shoulder, and frowned. Sisko turned to find Garak standing at the doorway behind him. Bashir's other friends had come by the Infirmary as soon as they had heard about his accident, and hovered anxiously until the medical team sent them out of the way. The tailor had not come near until now. "Excuse me, Commander," Garak spoke in a subdued voice. "I've been told that Dr. Bashir's condition has stabilized. Is he-?" he glanced at the biobed. "Is he going to recover?" "It's too soon to tell," the Bajoran doctor answered. Garak regarded her with mild interest. "You are a physician?" "Dr. Ranu Patrys. Dr. Bashir and I have been corresponding about Bajoran pediatric diseases," she explained with a note of defensiveness, as if she expected this Cardassian to challenge her credentials or her right to be here. "He was visiting my clinic in Jura City and invited me back to the space station to see his research on inoculants for Dyosa's disease. We were on our way to Deep Space Nine when the runabout had some kind of trouble with its impulse engine--the 'flow regulators.' Dr. Bashir went into the crawlway to try and fix it. There was an explosion." She glanced at the young man "The blast caught him right in the face." "It was fortunate Dr. Ranu was there," Sisko added. "She saved his life." Garak stepped closer to the biobed. "Then he will live?" "He'll live," said Ranu. "But, as I was telling Commander Sisko, he's sustained a severe head injury. There's been some trauma to the brain, but I won't be able to assess how extensive it is until he regains consciousness and we can test his motor skills, his cognitive functions..." "Hm, yes," the tailor replied. Standing over Bashir, he reached out to brush the purplish stain on the young man's cheek with his fingertips. "If you don't object, I would like to stay here, and wait." Ranu opened her mouth, but before she could say exactly why she objected, Sisko answered, "You can stay. I'm waiting myself." Dr. Ranu turned and walked quickly to the other side of the Infirmary; Sisko watched her go and when he turned back to Bashir, he saw that Garak had slipped his fingers around the pale hand lying on the coverlet and was gazing intently at the peaceful face. *He really does care about him,* Sisko thought. He had kept an eye on this strange relationship since its beginning and wondered at its true nature, but he had always assumed that Garak had some ulterior motive in cultivating a friendship with the naive young doctor. "Would you like me to leave you alone for awhile?" he asked. Garak smiled at the offer. "That's very kind of you, Commander, but it's really not necessary." "Nevertheless," Sisko took a few steps backward. "I'll be over here if anything happens." As he retreated to the far side of the Infirmary to continue his discussion with Ranu, he heard the first, soft-spoken words--"Doctor? I don't know if you can hear me..."--before Garak's voice dropped to a murmur. "I've heard about _him_," Dr. Ranu whispered to Sisko, her eyes still on the tailor with suspicion. "The last Cardassian left on the space station. The spy. What is he to your doctor?" "They're friends-" Sisko began, not intending to tell her about the more elaborate speculations he had heard regarding the pair, when the soft monologue from the other end of the room stopped abruptly. Then Garak exclaimed, "Julian!" and Sisko and Ranu rushed back to the biobed. Bashir's eyes were open; he blinked up at the Cardassian, still gripping his hand. "What did you call me?" Garak appeared slightly embarrassed, believing the doctor meant to tease him for revealing too much of his feelings in this moment of crisis, but Sisko heard a genuine note of perplexity in Bashir's question. "It's your name," he said. --- "Julian Bashir," the young man repeated the name, and frowned thoughtfully as he considered it. Then he shook his head. "_Doctor_ Bashir. It doesn't mean a thing to me. A doctor-?" He twisted to look back at Ranu at the medical displays behind him. "Like you?" "Yes, that's right. You sustained some serious head trauma in an explosion." She turned from the displays. "The good news is that there doesn't seem to be any permanent neural damage. Your reflexes, responses to sensory stimuli, coordination--all are good. There's every chance your memory will return eventually." "But until then..." he turned to look up at Garak. His fingers went to his own brow, then with a glance back at Ranu, he ran one fingertip down the bridge of his nose. He fixed upon Sisko as the one most like himself. "I don't even know what I look like, or who any of you are--and I _ought_ to." "I'm Commander Benjamin Sisko," Sisko began the introductions. "Commander," Bashir repeated. "You're in some sort of military organization." "I'm your superior officer." "_I'm_ in some sort of military organization." "Starfleet," Sisko answered. "You're a lieutenant, and my chief medical officer." He marveled at what had and hadn't been lost: Bashir couldn't remember his own name or race, but he knew what a doctor was. He knew that a commander was a military rank even though he didn't recognize the Starfleet uniform. Bashir had turned to Garak again; his fingers flexed. "_You're_ not in the military," he said. "Who are you?" "My name is Garak," the tailor told him simply. "I'm a friend." Dr. Ranu brought forth a small mirror for her patient. The young man studied his own face and, eyes bright with tears, shook his head. "I don't know myself at all." --- Dr. Ranu kept Bashir under observation in the Infirmary for the rest of the day and released him the next morning. His physical injuries had been repaired, and she thought he would be more comfortable recovering in his quarters. After an introduction, Dax escorted him to the habitat ring and, seeing him settled, returned to her duties. A short time later, the door chimed. Julian, seated uneasily on the sofa, looked up and around at the noise, but he didn't know what to do. He was on his feet when the chime sounded again. Then there was a knock at the door. "Doctor? Are you all right? It's Garak." Julian ran to the door, relieved by the arrival of this strange man who had identified himself as a friend. "I was told that you'd left the Infirmary," Garak explained as he came in, "and I thought I would drop by and see how you were getting along." He glanced around the room as if he expected to find another person here with Bashir. "Oh, I'm fine," Julian answered tightly, trying to restrain the quaverous note in his voice. "Except... Well, this is supposed to be _my_ room and I feel like a visitor in someone else's home. These are _his_ private things. _His_ mother's portrait-" he waved at the holo on the highest shelf. "His books, his teddy bear, his brushes and shaving kit in the bathroom. He's very generous, allowing me to use his things, but I feel as if I'm violating his privacy simply by being here." He gave his amazed visitor a trembling smile. "I've barely dared to move. I'm afraid to touch anything. I feel strange wearing _his_ clothes. That woman with the spots-" "Lt. Dax." He nodded. "Showed me how to use that `replicator,' but I haven't the faintest idea what to tell it I'd like to eat because I don't _know_ what I like to eat." He was at the point of tears. "Would you be more comfortable if you went out for awhile?" Garak suggested. "Out to lunch?" "Lunch?" It seemed an odd offer of comfort. "We usually have lunch together," the tailor replied. "I know what your favorite foods are. I can order for you." The young man agreed quickly. Anything to get out of here. "Let's go then." --- ii --- "What did you say this place was called?" Julian asked as he sat down in the chair Garak held out for him, and looked around. When Dax had taken him from the Infirmary, he'd only glimpsed one end of this vast, open area; it seemed bewilderingly complex and a little frightening, crowded with innumerable strange-looking people, but he felt more at ease here than he'd been sitting alone in that room that wasn't really his. He'd been told that this was a space station, but he found it hard to believe that something so large could be out in the middle of nothing. "That is the Promenade," said Garak. "And this restaurant is the Replimat." "Do we come here often?" "Once every week if we have the opportunity." He went to the nearest replicator, leaving Bashir at the table, taking in his surroundings. When Garak spoke behind him--"One order of naarlishu with yarmok sauce, Jennet tonic water, a heart-of-wildroot salad, and Tarkelean tea, hot, extra sweet." --Julian turned in his chair to see the food and glasses of liquid materialize in the aperture. This was what Dax had told him the replicator would do, but he still found it amazing. "Which ones are for me?" he asked. The salad and cup of tea were set on the table before him. Julian poked at the salad with a fork, and tried a few bites; the dark green leaves were mildly tart but pleasant-tasting, but the red, diced roots had a peppery tang. Garak watched him closely. "Don't you like it?" he inquired. "It is one of your favorites--I've seen you eat wildroot salads dozens of times." "It's all right. I suppose I'll just have to get used to my favorite foods all over again." He took a sip of the tea next; it was rich and sweet and comfortingly warm, and he drank it down as quickly as the heat of the liquid would allow. "What's that place over there?" Julian asked after his friend brought him a second cup. "With all the people and the flashing lights?" "That is Quark's." "Do we ever go in there?" "Sometimes. It tends to be rather noisy." Julian gave him a small smile. "It seems noisy enough to me out _here_." "Although I do hate to disagree with Dr. Ranu's recommendations, it seems to me that your memory is more likely to be stimulated if you're out among people and surroundings you are familiar with," Garak said. "Quark's may be too much for you at present, but perhaps later- Ah, there is Quark now." He gestured, and Julian turned to look at the strangest person he had seen so far--with an enormous, bulbous head and loud, colorful clothing--but he was more interested in the human male in a black-and-yellow uniform whom Quark arguing with. "I know that man he's talking to." Julian felt a momentary thrill of excitement, then disappointment when he realized _where_ he had seen the man before. "He visited the Infirmary yesterday. He said he was glad to see me 'up and about'." Well, at least it was reassuring to know that his memory since the accident was unimpaired. "That's Chief O'Brien," Garak told him. "Your closest friend." "I thought _you_ were my closest friend." "The friendship you and I shared was somewhat... different." This cryptic answer did nothing to clarify matters for Julian. While he sipped his tea, O'Brien finished the conversation with Quark, and noticed him. With a look of surprise at seeing Julian there, he raised one hand in greeting; Bashir waved back, but instead of coming over to the table, his named best friend scowled at Garak and headed purposefully up the Promenade. "It seems so strange," Julian said to Garak. "Him-" he nodded in the direction O'Brien had gone, "Lt. Dax, the commander, all of you act as if you know me." "We do." "Yes, I know, but I feel as if I just met you." He studied the ornate face of the man seated across the table--a face which, as far as he knew, he had never seen before he'd opened his eyes in the Infirmary. It was disconcerting to have this near-stranger treat him with such familiarity, as if they'd been friends for a long time--and yet they _were_ friends. Garak had said so several times. He'd even been holding his hand when he first woke up. "I'm not ill," Julian tried to explain. "This head injury hasn't left me impaired. I can still walk, and I can feed myself." He stabbed at his barely-touched salad with the fork. "I understand what people are saying to me, and I can respond to them." "You express yourself quite articulately," Garak assured him. "In fact, you don't sound very different from the way you usually do, only a little less certain of yourself. If I didn't know, I would not guess that you'd been recently injured. It's strange to me to hear _you_ say that you don't know who I am." "But that's it--I am fine; I'm just empty of _me_. I feel as if I've been dropped into someone else's life." "That other Julian Bashir," Garak answered, understanding. "The one whose things are in your quarters." "His quarters. And you're _his_ friends." "_Your_ friends, Julian." The Cardassian reached out to touch his hand. "We will help you until you remember that. You have so much to learn about yourself--a difficult and frustrating task, but I'll do whatever I can to assist you." As Garak showed him around the Promenade after lunch, Julian became aware that his self-appointed escort was not a popular man. O'Brien's scowl was only the first clue, followed by an even more fierce glare from Dr. Ranu as they passed the Infirmary, and more stares when they ventured briefly into Quark's. Then Sisko approached them on the Promenade's upper level--to find out how Bashir was coping on his first day out, he said, but Julian suspected that someone had reported to the commander and he had come to check the situation out for himself. His impressions were confirmed when Garak and Sisko left him at the windows for a whispered conversation. They didn't go far--neither wanted to leave him unattended--and as he gazed out at the stars, he was able to hear enough of their discussion to understand that Sisko was angry at Garak for taking him out without obtaining permission, but that Garak was able to convince Sisko he was acting in Julian's best interests. They came to an agreement. As he returned to Bashir, Garak told Sisko, "I will take care of him, Commander." "See that you do." It was a warning. Julian never learned what the problem was, but in the short time they had been together, Garak had already gained his trust. That was not easily shaken by a few hostile looks from people he knew even less well. They left the Promenade and toured the outer sections of the station for the rest of the afternoon. Bashir, reluctant to return to the rooms where he had been so miserable that morning, would have been happy to circle the habitat and docking rings indefinitely, but after one circuit, Garak told him that he looked tired and insisted on seeing him back to his quarters. "Would you mind staying with me awhile longer?" Julian asked as they arrived at his door. "I'm not keeping you from anything, your- ah- work?" He recalled that Garak had pointed out one of the shops on the Promenade as belonging to him. Surely his friend had other things to do? But Garak answered, "It's unimportant. There is nothing that cannot wait." "You told Commander Sisko you were in 'the best position' to watch out for me." "It's quite true," Garak replied, and seemed surprised but pleased to hear that he had been listening in. "All of your other friends have their Starfleet duties to occupy them and, as much as I am sure they would like to spend more time with you, they simply are not able. I, on the other hand, am merely a humble tailor. I have no duties, and I can stay with you as long as you'd like." Heartened by the prospect of not having to sit here by himself, Bashir went to the replicator. "Garak, what was that tea I had at lunch?" "Tarkelean. Shall I order some for you?" "No. I want to try." He announced his selection to the computer in clear, careful tones, and then laughed out loud when the cup materialized. Triumphant at this success, he turned to his guest, who had seated himself on the sofa and was watching him with a small, amused smile. "Can I get you anything?" "No, thank you. There is nothing more I require. Now, as long as I am here, what would you like to do?" Julian moved toward the sofa with his tea. "You said you were going to help me remember who I was." "Yes, of course. I know a great deal about you, Julian. You and I have been friends for quite some time, since shortly after your arrival on Deep Space Nine." He indicated the empty cushions beside him, inviting Bashir to sit down. "To begin, why don't I tell you a few stories about yourself?" --- After that, Garak came by every morning to have breakfast with him and stayed throughout the day. Julian thought that Commander Sisko must have granted Garak official permission to take charge of him; while there were still a few strange looks when one of his friends visited, or when he and Garak were out on the Promenade, no one objected to the Cardassian being constantly in his company. At least, no one complained in front of him. He soon learned from Dr. Ranu--who had agreed to remain on the station until Starfleet assigned someone to replace him--that Garak's people had occupied her homeworld, Bajor, and O'Brien informed him that the Federation they belonged to had recently been at war with the Cardassian Empire. From this, Julian inferred that the general dislike for his friend was racial, not personal, and he thought little more of it. Besides, he saw nothing dangerous about Garak. From that first day in the Infirmary, Garak had been extraordinarily kind to him--so attentive, in fact, that Julian was beginning to wonder just what kind of relationship they had really had before his accident. After a few days of stories about his past, Garak took him into Quark's again to visit something called a holosuite. "A 'holosuite'?" Bashir asked as he followed Garak up the stairs. "What's that?" "It's a device that creates scenes in a virtual environment." They arrived at the uppermost landing and stood between three closed doors. Garak inserted the datarod he had brought with him into a round slot just above one of the doors' control panel. "Computer, initiate program." After a few seconds, the computer announced: <<>> The door opened, and they stepped forward-- Not into a small room, but out onto a busy city street with crowds of people and land-transport vehicles all around them. Instinctively, Julian moved a little closer to his friend, and felt Garak's arm steal reassuringly around his waist. Somehow, they had gone outside, out onto a planet somewhere- No; Garak had told him that this was a simulated environment. They _were_ in a small room. But it looked so real! The buildings around them were irregular in size and architectural style, and many had a weathered look of great age. The people looked as real as the crowds on the Promenade, although here they all appeared to be humans. There were bright, blinking colored lights suspended overhead, shaped into animated patterns, some of which he could identify: swaying bells, geometric crystalline patterns, pointed leaves with red berries, leaping antlered animals, and winged humanoids playing a variety of musical instruments. "This is London," Garak told him as he gaped upwards. "The city on your homeworld where you grew up. Last night, you asked me if I knew anything about your childhood--it occurred to me that a demonstration might be a more effective way to trigger your early memories." Small flecks of white were falling from a gray, cloud-covered sky. Julian held out both hands to catch them; the few particles that landed on his palms dissolved away instantly. *Snow.* He smiled as he recalled the name. *It's winter here.* And he thought that it should be colder. "This was originally intended to be a holo-novel mystery," Garak continued, "but I've made a few alterations to the program. Everything you have ever told me about London is here. I've located information on the house on Curzon Street where you once lived and added those images, as well as your old school, the park where you used to play, and other details from your personal history." Bashir began to calculate: the subject of his childhood had come up during last night's session, shortly before his friend had left. That had been around midnight. They'd met again for breakfast at 0900, when Garak proposed this trip to the holosuite. If Garak had obtained the holo-novel after leaving him, then searched for personal information about where he had lived and gone to school, and then altered the original mystery programming... "You must have been up all night working on this for me," he murmured and looked up Garak wonderingly. "Right now, we are on Oxford Street," said Garak, apparently not hearing his softly spoken remark. "You told me once of how your mother used to bring you here as a child during the mid-winter festivals to see the decorations. Does it look at all familiar?" Julian shook his head. Snowflakes, Christmas, reindeer and angels--he knew the words, but he had no specific memories of ever being on this street before. "Garak, I'm sorry. This is lovely, and it's wonderful of you to take so much trouble..." "It's no trouble," Garak responded. "On the contrary, it is my pleasure." Then he added in an encouraging tone: "Why don't we take a walk? We have the holosuite for an hour, and other scenes may be more promising. If the house and the school do not interest you, there are also dozens of historical landmarks you were taken to see on school trips--the Tower, Westminster Abbey, the Drury Lane Theatre. Or perhaps, your favorite when you were a small boy, the Serpent Lake in the park?" The names meant nothing to Bashir--although the image evoked by this last was rather disturbing. "Serpent Lake? And you say I used to play in it?" Somehow, _that_ didn't seem right. "That is what you told me. Shall we go? I believe that Hyde Park is in this direction." They went up the street together, Julian still considering his friend with frank curiosity. --- Julian opened his eyes. He always experienced a moment of disorientation when he woke up, but this time the sensation was more jarring than usual. The lights were on, he was curled half-sitting on the sofa instead of lying in bed, and his cheek was pillowed on something covered in red brocaded fabric. He lifted his head from Garak's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he mumbled apologetically. "I must have dozed off." But his friend was smiling with indulgent affection as he replied, "It's quite all right--although I must say it doesn't speak very well for my reputation as a thrilling storyteller. I hope it's the choice of reading material. Perhaps tomorrow night we should try one of the Cardassian novels I recommended?" Garak had been reading to him lately from the books on his own shelves--to aid his memory, and also to teach him how to read again. Julian had been dismayed to find that he'd forgotten, but he was relearning swiftly under his friend's instruction. And, in addition to the lessons, he looked forward to these evenings. Especially those times when Garak drew him closer, ostensibly to give him a better view of the text, and continued to hold him while he read. At first, Julian had felt a little strange being cradled this way, but it wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, it was rather nice. This evening, when Garak's arm had stolen around him, he'd let his cheek rest on the tailor's shoulder and occasionally glanced up at his face, expecting--well, he didn't know what exactly he hoped Garak would do next, but after awhile, when there were no further advances, he'd relaxed in the curve of his friend's arm. He had shut his eyes to focus on Garak's voice as he went on reading... And that was the last thing he remembered. "How long have I been asleep?" "Not long. I didn't want to disturb you, but since you are so obviously in need of your rest, I think it's time you were in bed." He pulled Bashir up off the sofa, and took him into the bedroom--and then, to Julian's surprise, suddenly scooped him up and deposited him on the mattress. Bashir waited, heart drumming, as Garak took one of his ankles, then the other, and pulled off his boots. *This is it,* he thought. *This is it.* And when the tailor tugged gently upwards on his shirt to take it off over his head, Julian couldn't bear another second of uncertainty. He blurted, "Are you going to get in with me?" Garak looked startled by the question, then he laughed. "No, of course not." He turned away to look through the bureau drawers in search of pajamas and left Bashir to finish undressing himself. Julian was still blushing as he changed into the pajamas Garak tossed at him, but his friend did not appear to be offended. He was encouraged to ask another question, the one he'd been puzzling over for days: "Did you ever?" "No, Julian." Garak came back to the bed, urged him to lie down and, with a brisk, business-like tug, pulled the blanket up to the young man's chest. "You and I are friends. Nothing more. Go to sleep." --- iii --- After a routine check-up with Dr. Ranu the next day, Bashir stepped out onto the Promenade and looked around; Garak was not in sight. The tailor had left him at the Infirmary door half an hour earlier, claiming that he had to attend to his work, which he'd allowed to lapse deplorably lately. Julian couldn't blame him for retreating: when Garak had stayed with him during his previous exams, Dr. Ranu and the rest of the Bajoran medical staff had regarded the Cardassian with suspicion and mistrust. Garak had also said he'd be back in time to take him to lunch, but Julian was not anxious at finding himself without an escort. Instead, he strolled down the Promenade confidently. Although his memory had not returned in the two weeks since his accident, he was growing familiar with the station again. This huge, open space no longer intimidated him. On his way toward Garak's shop, he spotted Dax and O'Brien at the Replimat. In the past two weeks, he had also become reacquainted with his friends and, after a moment's indecision, he approached them. Informalities were exchanged and a cup of tea ordered, and then Julian ventured: "Can I ask you both a strange question?" "Of course." "Sure. Go ahead." "It's about Mr. Garak... Is he my lover?" O'Brien snorted, but Dax answered sincerely, "Julian, I don't know. There've been rumors-" "Gossip," Miles interjected. "But you never confided in either of us. The only person who can answer your question is Garak. Have you asked him?" Julian nodded. "Last night. He said that we're only friends." "Then what makes you think he's lying?" O'Brien asked. "It's so many little things. He-" Bashir hesitated, trying to articulate his impressions. "You've all been so kind to me since my accident, but with Garak, it's different. He just seemed to assume I was his responsibility. He's been so sweet, and he does everything he can to try and help me recover my memory--he tells me stories, reads to me." The London holo-program was already common knowledge around the station. "He's always there in your quarters whenever I drop by," said Miles. "He knows I don't like being alone. I never am, if Garak can help it. He's set aside his work so he can devote his time to caring for me. Why would he go to so much trouble if he didn't have some special interest in my welfare? "And then," Julian continued slowly, not certain he should tell them about this part, "there's the way he touches me. It's so- well- intimate. Not sexual, exactly. He's never tried to kiss me, and he said 'no' last night when I practically invited him into bed..." This was too much for O'Brien; with a mumbled excuse, he got up abruptly and left the table. "There's nothing I can point to definitely, but I can't help feeling that there's more to our friendship than he's telling me," Bashir concluded to Dax alone. "As if one of the things I've forgotten is that I love him, and he's waiting for me to remember it." Dax leaned across the table to whisper, "Julian, you _are_ falling in love with him, aren't you?" Bashir smiled self-consciously. "I guess I am. It's silly, I know it. I know so little about him--and I've got an idea that I didn't know very much even when my memory was intact." "He _is_ something of a mystery here on DS9," Dax replied. "But you don't know anything specifically _bad_ about him?" "No," she admitted. "Being the only Cardassian left on the station, Garak's naturally a target for all kinds of suspicion. I don't know how many theories I've heard about why he's stayed on after his people withdrew. He could be here as a spy." "I've heard those stories too," Bashir told her. "Everyone's been telling me about Garak." He glanced after Miles. "The Starfleet people. Even Commander Sisko's told me to be careful. The Bajorans--Dr. Ranu, especially, and Major Kira--all warn me that he can't be trusted, but no one will say exactly what it is he's supposed to have done. And no matter what they say, I just can't see him as dangerous. He's never been anything but wonderful to me." He smiled suddenly as he spotted Garak walking swiftly down the Promenade in the direction of the Infirmary, and he waved to summon him over. "Just in time for the changing of the guard," Dax said as the Cardassian came up toward their table. "I'm needed back up in Ops." As she left her chair, she leaned briefly on Bashir's shoulder to whisper near his ear: "Tell him, Julian. Then see what he says." --- He broached the subject again as Garak walked with him back to his quarters. "You tell me everything else about myself, except the most important thing. Why won't you tell me about this?" "My dear boy, I have." "You haven't! Not the whole truth. You _are_ my lover, aren't you?" "What if I tell you I am? What will you do?" Garak chuckled. "I could say anything, and you'd believe me. It would be unfair of me to take advantage of your ignorance." "You don't have to lie. You don't have to tell me a thing you don't want to. Just answer the question--yes or no." "It's not so simple as that." "Either we _are_ or we aren't-!" Garak shook his head. "Truth, dear Julian, is never simple. To answer your question: Have we been together in bed? The answer to _that_ is no. Are we in love? I can't speak for you." He paused, then said matter-of-factly, "I have been in love with you for some time. I never told you." Julian's heart began to thump at this information, tossed at him as if it were of no importance. "Why not?" In the same off-hand tone: "I had no reason to think you'd find it interesting." He smiled broadly at the young man's amazement. "I once told you how we met." "I remember." Garak looked surprised, and he added quickly, "I remember that you told me. I don't remember it happening." The tailor relaxed. "The story I told you was not entirely accurate." "You said that you wanted to establish contact with one of the Starfleet officers to convey information through informal channels. You picked me because I seemed the most receptive. I didn't hate Cardassians." He paused. "Isn't that true?" Garak lifted one finger, scolding playfully. "Now didn't I just tell you that truth is never a simple matter of yes and no? Yes, I selected you as my courier to deliver useful information to Commander Sisko in hopes that he would return the favor. And yes, you were by far the most approachable Starfleet officer available. But there's more. "I watched you for some time before I introduced myself. You intrigued me--a handsome young man by the standards of your species, intelligent, charming, and yet I observed time and again how your fellow officers rebuffed your attempts to befriend them. In those early days it seemed they barely tolerated your presence. You looked lonely. Believe me, I know what loneliness is." Julian heard the pain behind this last statement. He didn't remember what he had been like at the time, if he had been lonely or not, but he was always aware of the terrifying isolation that lurked at the edges of his awareness these days. Whenever he was alone, he had nothing, not even himself, to save him from the emptiness. If Garak didn't keep him company... "And then one day when you were sitting alone at Quark's..." "You felt sorry for me?" "Perhaps." The tailor was still smiling. "I felt a certain sympathy with your situation. But I meant to make use of it. I intended to seduce you." Julian laughed nervously; Garak began to regard him with fresh interest. "But it never went anywhere?" the young man asked. "A little flirtation. Oh, we had our games over the lunch table! But it was never more than that. You were flattered, I think, by my attention, but it was obvious that you didn't derive the same pleasure from my company as I did from yours. You enjoyed our lunches, the conversation. We played our spy games. And I was growing... fond of you." Julian's eyes were misting. "I must have been an idiot." "Our friendship was not as it is now," Garak told him, still watching him closely. "If you could remember, you'd see how very different we are. I was not so forthright, and you were not so willing to believe everything I said." "It couldn't have been a very intimate friendship," Bashir answered, "born from lies. Perhaps it's better that I don't remember it. It gives us a chance to begin again." Outside his door, he hesitated, feeling strangely bold and shy at once. He knew what he wanted, but had no idea how to proceed. He was a grown man; intellectually, he knew that he must have had a healthy number of sexual encounters before, but whatever experience he'd had in dealing with this type of situation had been lost along with the rest of his personal knowledge. After last night's blunder, he was afraid of saying too much too bluntly, and having Garak laugh at him again. He ventured, "Would you like to come in?" Garak had been in and out of his quarters dozens of times without being specifically asked, but tonight Julian hoped his friend would understand the offer behind the invitation. In response, Garak reached out to take him by the jaw and lift his chin. Julian nearly faltered before the penetrating gaze that seemed to sift through his soul, seeking the answer to an unspoken question, but he met those intense blue eyes bravely. He hoped the answer was easy to read in his own eyes. *I may have been indifferent once. I am not now. Can't you see my feelings are not the same as that other Julian Bashir's?* Then Garak drew him closer and pressed his mouth very softly against Bashir's. Julian knew that this was not his first kiss. But who had those other been? Men? Women? And when? He didn't know, and didn't care. As the kiss deepened, he shut his eyes and melted into it. This might as well be the first: The sensations of another person's arms tight about him, body pressing hard against his, and lips kissing him and kissing him until his head spun were all new and entirely overwhelming. And then, suddenly, Garak let go. He stepped back a little, preparing to retreat. "Julian, I must apologize. I ought to go now-" "No!" Julian protested, still breathless from the kiss. The thought of going quietly into his room after _this_ and spending one more night alone was more than he could bear. The right words, so simple, came to him: "Garak, stay. Please?" The tailor studied his face again, then said, "If that is what you want." He pulled Julian into another kiss, which the young man responded to eagerly, and then they went in. --- iv --- He confided only in Dax, but Julian was soon aware that everyone knew that _something_ had happened and had guessed what--and it was just as obvious that no one approved. He didn't care. He was happy. For the first time since his accident, he felt secure. Having lost his own identity, he found it reassuring to belong to someone. He had no name, no past, no profession. He could call himself no one's son nor brother, but he could define himself by _this_ relationship. He could not feel so isolated when Garak was with him. Nights had been the worst: To lie sleepless with nothing in his head, or to wake in the darkness knowing that his surroundings would remain just as unfamiliar even once he called for the lights. What a relief it was to lie with the shelter of strong arms around him! When he woke now in the night, he had the comfort of being lulled back to sleep by Garak's deep, purring breath and the steady, slow pulse of his lover's heartbeat close against his ear. It was impossible to be frightened anymore. One morning soon after their love-affair began, Garak escorted him to the Infirmary for one of his regular examinations and left him, as usual, at the door. Dr. Ranu watched the Cardassian walk away. "You don't know what you're getting into," she said as she urged Bashir up onto the biobed and began to check his reflexes and coordination. "Victims of the Occupation still come into my clinic at Jura with old injuries, missing limbs, scars, pulmonary diseases contracted in the Cardassian mines and factories. I see members of the Resistance who were tortured. Children who still suffer the effects of malnutrition from when they were small in the interment camps--they're fed now, but no nutritional supplements today can make up for that earlier neglect." Ranu and the other Bajorans had told him something of the horrors of the Occupation before this, but Bashir still found each piece of new information a fresh shock. Nevertheless, he answered, "You can't hold Garak responsible for all of that." "No," said Ranu, "but you can bet that your boyfriend was involved in the Occupation in some way." "You don't know that." "He's Cardassian and he was here. That's proof enough." Julian had no answer. What could he say? He had even less information about Garak's past than about his own. While Garak had been ready to tell him who Julian Bashir had been before the accident and, after some prodding, had even talked about their old relationship, the Cardassian rarely spoke of himself. Ranu moved away from the biobed, and Julian lay down for his neurological scan. "I don't mean to upset you," she said, less contentious since Julian had lapsed into his thoughtful silence. "But _someone_ has to tell you the truth about that man. You're so trusting. You think he's just someone who's been nice to you, but to me it looks like he's taking you the same way his people took our planet." She turned away to the display panels to monitor the results of the scan. "Maybe it's hard for you to hear, but sometimes a doctor has to resort to drastic measures for the good of her patient. You used to know that." Julian doubted that he could ever be so cruel to one of his own patients when he had been a doctor himself. From everything he'd been told, he had been the sort of physician who disliked seeing anyone suffer and would hate having to inflict further pain. *Forgive me, Jadzia...* A sudden, vivid image flashed in his head: Dax on the biobed, looking young, frightened, vulnerable. She was covered with a sheet that had a large square section cut out of the middle, exposing the thin slit of a pouch across her bare abdomen. *Don't blame yourself, Julian. You did everything you could.* Then it was gone. "Bashir?" Dr. Ranu was standing over him. "What is it? What's happened?" "I remembered..." Even though the scan was not complete, Julian leapt off the biobed. "I've been here--_before_." He turned in a full circle to look all around the Infirmary with hopeful anticipation. For one moment, in that one memory, this place had not seemed alien and strange. It had once been his; he had belonged here, not as a patient, but as the medical officer in charge. When Garak returned, Julian rushed to fling his arms around him, mindless of the Bajoran scowls. All his doubts were forgotten. "Garak, I remembered something! Lt. Dax- I was performing some sort of surgery on her symbiont." There was another brief flash: Garak, lying on the same biobed, one hand lifted for him to take. "And you-! Something was wrong in your brain and I was going to fix it." His eyes became unfocused as he tried to recall more, but after awhile he shook his head. "Did I?" "Yes," Garak told him. "You saved my life." Julian laughed. "Isn't this wonderful? It's all coming back to me. I'll remember everything soon!" "Wonderful," Garak replied, but he didn't sound as if he meant it. --- "What's wrong?" Julian asked as they walked back to his quarters. "It's nothing." "It is!" he insisted. Garak had been unusually quiet for hours. He had barely spoken over their lunch, and then had deferred their plans for another excursion into the holo-London. Julian had been too excited at the prospect of his memory returning to notice at first; now, he realized that this silence had begun back in the Infirmary. He had been eager to share the good news with his lover, and Garak had immediately withdrawn from him. "Is it because my memory's coming back?" he asked. "Not at all. I am overjoyed for you. Nothing could make me happier than seeing you restored to your full health." It was a lie. Whatever was concealed behind Garak's infuriating elusiveness, it was not joy. Julian was certain now: Garak wasn't looking forward to the return of his memories; in fact, he dreaded it. "Can't you admit that you're afraid?" the question burst out and Garak, who had been walking a few steps ahead of him, stopped. "Do you think I'll forget everything we've been to each other once I'm myself again?" "Of course not," Garak said without turning to look at him. "No! That's exactly what it is! You _are_ afraid. You think you're going to lose me. Don't you think I noticed the way you pulled back from me when you thought I was about to remember something? And that's why you didn't want to go into the holosuite--you don't want anything to trigger more memories and bring it all back. What are you so worried that I'll remember about you?" "My love," now, Garak turned. He was smiling, but there was a guarded look in his eyes. "I assure you that you're making far too much out of a little preoccupation on my part. My concerns have nothing to do with you." He resumed walking at a brisk pace. Julian followed, eyes sparkled with baffled tears. When they reached his quarters, Garak only said, "If you'll excuse me," and left him at the door. --- v --- That afternoon, alone in his quarters, Julian Bashir remembered who he was. The first fragments of memory returned to him as he tried to distract himself from thinking about his fight with Garak. He busied himself with straightening out the things on his shelves: As he shook the dust off the battered teddy-bear, he remembered sewing on one of the torn limbs with painstaking care. He moved the holo of his mother, and recalled the perfume she'd been wearing when she'd given him a farewell hug before sending him off to school. He thought of those Christmas visits to Oxford Street, when he'd been so small that he had to cling to her hand to keep from being lost in the crowd. He recalled his father's face, scowling, and remembered the argument they had had when he'd chosen this assignment on DS9 rather than accept a posting in Paris. Other memories followed rapidly: his room at Starfleet Medical; his first view of the station through a window in the observation bay of a starship; a pretty girl crying; the way Jadzia had smiled when he'd stammered out an invitation to dinner; an explosion on the Promenade and a bleeding man sprawled on the deck before him. His last words to Dr. Ranu: "This will only take a moment. I just have to adjust the plasma intake valve on the flow inhibitor and we'll be on our way," as he crawled into the access tube on the runabout. He picked up a holo-rod lying on the top shelf with a strip of golden ribbon tied in a bow around it, puzzled at it--and then recognized it as the enigma tale Garak had given him for his last birthday. He remembered their conversation over lunch that day. *Oh, we had our games over the lunch table!* And everything came crashing back. He sank down on the couch as he felt _himself_ return. It was as if a cloud were lifting from his mind. His strange and frightening surroundings became familiar again. But he was shaking. He remembered everything he had done since his accident as well. As incredible as it was that he could have fallen in love with Garak, Garak's behavior was even more bewildering than his own. Julian didn't know what to make of it. He had been courted; he saw that now. Every little kindness he'd received from Garak had been a deliberate measure to gain his affection and trust. But to what purpose? *I felt a certain sympathy with your situation.* The words echoed in his head. *But I meant to make use of it. I intended to seduce you.* Had he? If that was all that Garak had wanted from him, why not take him at the first opportunity? That night when Garak had put him to bed--or, indeed, any night just before that. If Garak had only gone a little further during one of their evenings on the sofa, Julian knew he would have given himself. Or, if not then, Garak could have lied and said they were lovers when Julian had asked him. It would have been so easy for him to use Julian's innocence to his own advantage... but, instead, he had hung back, reluctant either to lie or to tell the truth. And what was he to make of the way Garak had pulled away from him after their first kiss? *I have been in love with you for some time. I never told you.* Could _that_ be the truth? Even now, Julian thought that it had the sound of honesty, but so many things Garak had told him had sounded sincere, and later turned out to be lies. Even as frank as the tailor had been with him lately, he'd never been completely honest. The door chimed, and he heard Garak's voice: "Julian, it is I. May I come in?" "Yes," he answered, rising to his feet. "Come in." The door opened, but before he could even think of what he wanted to say, he was lifted in a fierce hug that crushed the breath out of him. Garak murmured, "Julian, I'm so sorry," before kissing him. There was nothing he could do but hang on. The intensity of his own desire took him by surprise. His heart was pounding. His head whirling. His limbs trembled as he clung to Garak's shoulders. To his shock, he realized, *I'm still in love with him!* Somehow, he had thought his feelings would change now that he knew who he was and, more importantly, now that he knew who his lover was. But the person he'd become these past weeks hadn't been lost now that he'd recovered himself. Before he knew how it had happened, they were in the bedroom; he felt as if he'd been swept up by a force he was powerless to resist. It didn't even occur to him to try. Fingers were deftly working the fastenings on his clothing and between an urgent exchange of kisses, Garak whispered to him--apologies, reassurances, affectionate words that Julian wanted to believe were true. He wanted it so badly that it almost didn't matter. "You do love me, don't you?" he asked as he tugged on the collar-clasp of Garak's tunic. "Yes, of course." Garak sounded surprised by the question. He had the tunic off. Grabbing Garak by his bare shoulders, he pulled him down. "Then prove it to me." --- Hours later, he stole out of Garak's embrace and sat contemplating his sleeping lover although the room was too dark for him to see more than the bulk of the figure on the bed before him. He was still astonished at how passionately he had responded to Garak's touch. And he'd surprised Garak too. The Cardassian had not expected to be seized so abruptly, nor entwined so insistently. But underneath that fierce burst of desire lay desperation. Julian recognized it. He had only delayed the inevitable; he had not yet told Garak that his memory had returned, and when he did, this relationship would very probably end. What was he going to do? All these nights, he had lain beside a man who made love to him tenderly and showed every sign of adoring him and cherishing him. But that couldn't really be the Garak he had known all these years, could it? *Do you think I'll forget everything we've been to each other?* No, he couldn't forget. But how could he forget what they had been before? He wished he could say that it didn't make a difference, but it did. There were so many problems they would have to face. Could it really work out, or would the past overwhelm them? And, there was more to think of than just themselves. A Starfleet officer couldn't have an affair with a suspected spy without facing some ramifications. In spite of the general disapproval, he'd been granted a certain leniency during his illness, but _that_ would change once he resumed his duties. What would happen if he were to continue this-? There was a glint in the darkness as Garak opened his eyes; after reaching across the empty space beside him, he lifted his head and found Bashir at the foot of the bed. He sat up. "Julian? What's wrong?" "Nothing." "You've been behaving very strangely tonight," Garak persisted. "Different. So... energetic, and now pensive. I can see that something's troubling you." Julian sighed. "I'm just thinking about us. About you, and how wonderful you've been to me." When he felt the tailor's hand brush his face, he leaned into the caress. "I wish I could make sense out of everything I know about you." Garak tugged him gently and he moved a little closer, slipping both arms around the Cardassian to nestle against him. He was about to tell the truth, when Garak asked, "Has the charming Dr. Ranu been telling you tales of the Occupation again?" "Mhm," Bashir responded, unprepared for the question, but his courage had momentarily quailed. He was ready to let Garak think that this was what was had upset him. And, after all, wasn't this part of it? As they lay back down, he settled his head on Garak's chest. The heartbeat near his ear made the same steady, comforting sound it always had. "You _were_ involved in it, weren't you?" "I played a role," Garak answered evasively. "Will you tell me about it?" And, even though he already knew the answer, he added, "Did you ever tell me before?" He wanted to hear what Garak say. "No, I never did. I didn't want you to know. Even before your memories were lost, I wanted to keep you untainted by... events that occurred a long time ago and are better forgotten." "But surely I couldn't have been completely ignorant," said Julian. "I must have suspected something?" "Suspected," Garak chuckled. "When I first introduced myself to you, you were already convinced that I was a spy after your Federation secrets. I had to resort to obfuscation to make my way with you." "You mean you lied." "I merely refused to confirm the Bajorans' gossip, or to deny it. What other choice did I have? I desired to make your acquaintance--nothing I could have said would disabuse you of your belief. And so, I fed it. I piqued your interest with tantalizing hints about my reasons for remaining on the station, kept you diverted with our games of intrigue." "You _were_ trying to seduce me," said Julian. "You've told me that." "I did win you over, up to a point," Garak replied. "Our friendship, such as it was, developed because of my efforts. But as long as your suspicions of me remained, it was impossible for us to become anything more than friends. You could never have loved me." He sighed deeply. "I would not have wished for your accident, dear Julian, but I am glad of what it's given me. You were right, of course: it is inevitable that I will lose you once your memory returns, and that prospect terrifies me." Julian felt a lump rise in his throat as he listened to Garak's explanation. He believed it. "That doesn't have to happen," he said. "I think I know better than you what will happen." "No. No, you don't." He couldn't keep the emotional quaver out of his voice, and Garak noticed it. "Julian?" "I do love you," he answered. "It isn't simply that you've taken care of me, or even that I want you to go on making love to me. There's more to it than that. I don't care about what happened before. It doesn't matter, not now." Another quaver. "You _are_ wonderful, Garak, and I never really saw it. You never let me see you this way." He felt Garak suddenly go still beneath him. The fingers stroking the nape of his neck froze in mid-caress. Even the rise and fall of that massive chest stopped. There was an interminable silence, and when Garak spoke, his voice was cautious. "Your memory has come back?" "All of it," he admitted. "I know who I am now. I wish I could say the same of you." "Do you want me to leave?" "No," Bashir decided. "No, I don't." Another long silence passed while they lay waiting for each other to speak. "It was not my intention to take advantage of you," Garak said at last. "I know." "After you were injured, I merely wanted to be sure that you were properly cared for. That Bajoran doctor, your Starfleet friends--they would have let you sit here alone until you found yourself again. You were so much in need of help, and it roused a certain... protectiveness in me. I admit I may have indulged that feeling a little too much. I did not expect your recovery to take so long." "Or that I would fall in love with you during it," Julian added softly. "How could I help it?" "I am capable of resisting my own weaknesses, but I could not deny you," Garak agreed. Then he asked, "How long have you known?" "Since this afternoon, after our quarrel." "Before I returned to apologize?" "Mhm." Julian waited a moment, to be certain Garak understood the implications. When the tailor's arms went around him, he shut his eyes and sighed. "I don't want to lose this either." In spite of the difficulties they were going to face in keeping together, this new side of Garak was too intriguing to let go of. "All the time we've known each other, I never guessed that you could be like this. Is this _really_ you? Or are you 'the spy'?" "Both," Garak answered. "Neither." This sounded so much like his old friend that Julian laughed. "You and your 'obfuscations'! I'm never going to get a straight answer out of you, am I?" But he was looking forward to trying. --- The End